


with capes and stuff

by kwritten



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Dark Imagery, Multi, Other, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:34:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/pseuds/kwritten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she watches them splash blood and knows she's the one that'll have to clean up the mess</p>
            </blockquote>





	with capes and stuff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youcallitwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcallitwinter/gifts), [vergoldung](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vergoldung/gifts), [ever_neutral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_neutral/gifts).



She watches them splash blood in the hallway like forgotten warriors in a war long gone cold; because there was a victor (maybe) or a winning side (doubtful) and only the old ones come out to lick their wounds and break them open (just one last time).  
  
Later, they'll sit with their heads together and be heroes or villains or something (and she'll eventually bail them out) (she always does) (she just has to wait) and sometimes there's capes.  
  
 _But it's her - always her - cleaning up the blood that splashes. It's her hearing his voice biting and hard, saying all the things she can't abide to hear about (him) herself. It's her hearing his voice pleading and desperate, taking all the harsh words she spits out about (herself) him._  
  
Someday maybe they'll all learn to stop lashing out words and holding out empty hands and maybe the blood will stop flowing in hallways.  
  
(Not likely.)  
  
It's a game of course. It was always a game.  
  
And they're always on the same side. No matter how much they pretend to be enemies or nemesis or whatever the storybooks say.   
  
There they are, the forgotten boy the rejected leader, always on the same team back to back fists up punching each other first and asking questions later.  
  
Falling in love with the same girl on repeat like some cosmic mistake.  
  
 _Which one brought out the best of them and which one of them brought out the worst?_  
  
 _(Neither of them, silly.)  
  
(Both.)  
  
(She thinks that's the point of the story.)_  
  
  
  
  
She watches the blood flow and she knows she's going to have to clean up the mess sooner or later.  
  
Soon they'll be sitting beside her and their faces will be bruised (they can't keep clean) (cleanliness is next to godliness and they are running for hell) (they say hell has better booze) (she always has to laugh at that and they know it keeps her from crying) and his eyelashes will reveal everything and his bravado will expose everything else  
  
and they have no way of knowing how transparent they are  
  
 _(she laughs at them but they see her truth in every gesture and every forced smile and sometimes - only sometimes - they bring the war to her because they know she won't bring hers to them and it's better to go down fighting together than to lose (her) one of them (again) in a battle that's not shared)  
  
(that's the part she doesn't see)  
  
(that's the part they spill blood so that she'll never see)_  
  
and she'll smile her brave 'yes I know how this works already' smile and take their wounds in her hands.  
  
  
  
  
And then probably disappear  
  
because they fight together and separately but always within earshot  
  
but she's already gone.  
  
  
  
There's another bathroom downstairs anyway.  
  
  
Oh. Did you think we were talking about yesterday?  
The smell of fishfingers in the air and the sound of children laughing all around?  
  
Did you think we were talking about linoleum and metal lockers and the click, clacking sound of a hundred pairs of heels wandering the halls?  
  
Did you think the blood was already dry?  
  
  
  
The blood always flows. There's always some uncovered wound to break open.  
  
There's always something more to chew up and spit out.  
  
  
  
Today it was over a shower.  
  
Maybe tomorrow it'll be over something bigger - a loan shark or a serial killer or a drug deal gone sour or something that will let them all get their hands dirty.  
  
  
  
Today, right now - we're just worried about getting enough hot water before they go running out into their lives and the domestic squabble is only a memory drudged up (and continued via txt because who are we talking about here) to get through the painstaking reality of another moment of daily-grind adulthood.  
  
  
Today the hallway is narrow and cramped with dark hardwood flooring (he liked the price) (she liked the character) (he tore up the shag carpeting first thing) and a flickering light above the stairs because  _who forgot to pick up light bulbs again?_  
  
  
Today they're bare-chested and bare-footed and bare-hearted (and always, always, always locked up tight.)  
  
  
  
  
  
Maybe tomorrow you'll see real blood.  
  
  
 _(She's cleaning it off them all everyday.)_  
  
(She's watching it dry all around them everyday.)  
  
  
  
Anyway, she's already gone.


End file.
